


The Dangers of Nar Shaddaa Casinos

by pansexualfandommess (redvelvetrose), PastelWonder



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hux Looks Fine In A Tuxedo, Mild S&M, Planet Nar Shaddaa (Star Wars), Rose Hates Wearing Fancy Duds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redvelvetrose/pseuds/pansexualfandommess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: Rose heads to Nar Shaddaa (the Las Vegas of the Galaxy) to meet with the First Order spy. He gives her far more than just intel. This is a roleplay by PastelWonder and myself on the GingerRose Discord. She played Hux and I was Rose. Whenever you see a string of asterisks, that's when we switched writers. I apologize in advance if my grammar is off; I don't usually write in present tense. :)
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	The Dangers of Nar Shaddaa Casinos

__

_Gamble everything for Love if you are a true human being._

_Half-heartedness does not reach into Majesty._

_-Rumi_

Rose hurries down a roughhewn street, although she tries to not look like she is hurrying. It’s a delicate balance that she is not at all sure she is succeeding at. She's never been to Nar Shaddaa, but everyone she asks says the planet is the same as Canto Bight, if Canto Bight was controlled by the Hutts. Glitz and glamour hovers around the place like a force-field; but just underneath, there is a barely concealed layer of seediness. Blinkers and glitterstim fiends twitch in alleys less than ten feet away from expensive casinos and hotels. Shapeless forms litter the streets here and there that Rose didn't even realize were homeless people until a security droid nudges one awake and told them to move on. She had literally thought they were rocks and that oversight gnaws at her conscious for a moment before she steels herself and moves on.

The blazing colored lights are starting to give her a headache, so she pulls a large-framed visor over her eyes. The disguise is not her idea. General Organa had insisted; Rose is not as famous (infamous?) as Poe or Finn or even Rey, but there is still a bounty on her head too. Somewhere, Poe had scrounged up a glittery green dress that is a way more revealing than she liked. Her arms are bare and the back of it dips down just past her waist. The front barely conceals her modesty! She'd found a longer chain for her pendant is just barely able to tuck it under the dress. No one would see it unless they stared right down her cleavage. Someone had procured a fur stole of some kind, chocolatey brown with black tips. Her hair had been steamed within an inch of its life and gleams like raw silk.

However, she is not convinced that a dress and some glareshades were a sufficient costume. She is still clearly an Otomakian girl and there aren't exactly a bunch of those wandering the galaxy. It is fun to play dress-up and all, but right now, she feels a little bit like a piece of meat. Men keep stopping and watching her curiously, judging whether she might have something they could steal from her, no doubt.

Either that or they are waiting for her to trip over the skirt, so they could have a good laugh.

Thankfully, she makes it to the rendezvous point without any such thing happening. She is early thanks to Poe's hellbent flying. She walks into the Palace of Grakkus the Hutt, making a concerted effort to keep her head high and not gawk at everything.

For a good ten minutes, she can simply wander around the main floor, watching various games of chance without having the slightest idea how they were played. Some serving droid all but shoves a glass of champagne into her hand, which she only sips at very slowly. The last thing she needs is to get drunk on her first meeting with their First Order spy. Instead, she focuses on watching the various people in the crowds, trying to figure out which one might possibly be an undercover First Order officer. She amuses herself by looking for the most constipated-looking man in the room since all First Order men seem to have a stick shoved up their-

"Blow?" a male voice queries just behind her, practically in her ear, making her swing around in alarm

"I- what?!" she sputters, half-inclined to slap him right across his face.

A slender, long-fingered hand opens before her face, displaying a pair of chance cubes.

"For luck," the man clarifies.

************

Frivolity. That loathsome cousin sentiment to the First Empire's greatest flaw - self-indulgence. To the General-turned-spy upon his own ascendency, it is the cardinal sin. To put oneself - one's desires, ones... motivations, before the good of the Galaxy. Self-indulgence is the black legacy of the Skywalkers, and it had cost the General everything.

Now, in his lowest hour, upon which he has lain like a sacrifice all personal ambition and - mostly painful - vainglory, for the sake of what he regards most, he finds himself seething in a dark corner of a gaudy casino, holding a untouched snifter of brandy between gloved fingers like a periapt against recognition and watching his liaison with the Resistance make an utter scene of herself.

Inconspicuous, indeed, he thinks as he wafts smoke-like up from the shadows of the bar to intercept her before she exposes them both. The man who has decided to make a meal of her is a notorious arms dealer and philanderer with ties to both the First Order and the Crimson Tide. A known enemy of the Resistance in darker circles, the General doubts entirely that his approach is coincidental, long talons extended like a vulture's reaching for an unsuspecting titmouse as he offers her his dice to blow upon. The General is weary already. And he has not even met the girl. Silently, unobtrusively, he weaves between the glimmering, glamorous throng towards his mark.

"Ah. My darling, there you are," his fingertips light on the small of her back. He does not look at her, least he risks her recognizing him a year after their encounter on his ship. Instead he sets his drink followed by hers plucked from her limp, startled hand on an empty tray passed by one of the smartly dressed waiters

He gives Magnus Fleet, the arms dealer in question, his most dangerous regard. "Magnus, what an unexpected pleasure, so good to see you this evening." With satisfaction, the General observes the other man withdraw his proffered die. "Do enjoy your night."

"And you," is the arms dealer's curt reply.

"Come this way, if you please," the General speaks to her tacitly from the corner of his mouth. Far, far away from touching her and without a trace of lechery. He is burning with anger, at the supreme insult of sending but a child to parlay. Nevertheless, he steers her towards a balcony overlooking the manmade canal where they will not be disturbed.

"Miss Tico," his tone is formal, businesslike, as under the shelter of half-shadow and the chilly veil of night, he turns to her finally to reveal himself. His lips are tight, cold eyes burning. He enunciates precisely yet lowly so as not to draw untoward attention, flashing teeth, "I find - when one endeavors to be-" His eyes flicker over her - Great Arkanian Fathers, he hardly trusts himself to linger over her long enough to diagnose what sort of frock she cavorting is in - with a sternly set frown. "-unremarkable, one's greatest ally is-" He arcs an eyebrow. "-discretion.”

************

Everything happens so quickly that her head is spinning by the time her contact has them both safely ensconced on a lonely balcony in seemingly the only spot of quiet in all of Nar Shaddaa. Looking up into those cold eyes, a power sense of deja vu washes over her. Her cheeks burn with shame as she glances down at herself.

“I’m hardly standing out. Everyone’s dressed all fancy in there. Besides, they wouldn’t have let me in if I were in my usual gear, now would they?” she retorts, taking a small step back so she doesn’t have to crane her neck back to meet his eyes. “You’re the one sticking out. You’re like nine feet tall and have hair like a damn fire. Did it escape your notice that people here are all rich people on vacation? At least try to LOOK like you’re enjoying yourself, DARLING.” That is their so-called cover story if they were questioned by anyone; First Order, Crimson Dawn, Knights of Zakuul, Hutts, anyone who might try to stop them. Pretend to be a married couple on vacation in Nar Shaddaa because Canto Bight is still rebuilding.

“You know, you could have said YOU were the spy,” she all but spits. “I would have known what to look for and not gotten accosted by piece of shit gambler.” She scowls, smoothing her hands over her dress, trying to tug it where she wanted more coverage. The glittery fabric refuses to be tamed, making her sigh and cross her arms over her chest in mild defeat. “Believe me, this outfit is NOT my idea.”

************

"Oh dear," he wonders at her rapidly oscillating emotions, further convinced she is entirely the wrong selection for the task at hand. An Otomokian, of all wonderous exotics. Rare, indeed, and - if he is being... judicious- Quite a lovely girl at that. Or at least, so he thought. A year ago in his hangar...

He is at odds with the desires to both reprimand and mollify her, lest she draw even more suspicion with her shrill antics. He is aghast, but he reminds himself, she is a child. His voice when he speaks next is even softer, the lulling, pacifying hiss of an asp. "This is all they could afford you, then- a glamorous _cocktail napkin_? As if any paramour of mine would wear such a thing. Gracious, child," he takes pity on her huddling against the chill, "You'll catch your death."

Gracefully, he shrugs out of his tuxedo jacket. He is his mother's son. The garment carries with it his warmth and the light scent of his cologne as he shawls it around her shoulders.

On further thought, he removes his gloves - white, for the occasion, and hands them to her in a neat stack. "Please," he makes a gesture that she should put them on. "And that will do for the theatrics this evening, Miss Tico. And the more... vivid descriptions of my person, thank you. Now, I must ask- will it be your room or mine?"

************

She just barely resists the urge to take another step away from him, but even if she had, she senses that he would have simply pulled her back. What right had he to be so.... forceful? She hadn't asked for his jacket or-

Her senses are suddenly hijacked by the warmth of the fine-clothed coat, the scent of green trees and forest moss and running water and... something else that makes her ache in places she very much does NOT want to ache right now.

"I'm not a child," she huffs, though even to her own ears, it sounds a tad whiny. Rolling her eyes at him, she pulls on the gloves as well. "You know, Hays Minor is an ice planet. Cold is nothing I haven't dealt with before. You're the one used to being on climate-controlled star destroyers for years at a go."

_“Now, I must ask- will it be your room or mine?"_

His question actually makes no sense for a brief moment. Rooms? She doesn't have a room... Is she supposed to have a room? Why does she need a room for something that should only take a few hours? "Yours," she manages to nod crisply at him, although she feels anything but crisp. Would it kill him to slouch a little? Or let some of that bright hair fall naturally? Or let there be ANY indication that he's not a protocol droid with delusions of grandeur?

She shrugs her arms into the sleeves of his jacket, which end several inches past the ends of her fingertips, she notes. Head held high, trying desperately to emulate the grace she remembers her mother having, she allows herself to take General Hux's arm. Fully expecting her skin to crawl at such a close touch, she is mildly alarmed when instead a delicious shiver snakes down her spine. He is warm, even in just his shirtsleeves, and she can feel hard, corded muscle underneath. Everyone said he is skinny and weak and hid in that greatcoat of his to hide how thin he is. He is no powerhouse of a creature, but... she can sense the tightly coiled strength in him. Lithe and deadly as a jungle cat.

************

The General is infinitely pleased at her change of tone. With leadership as both his mantle and his vocation, he guides her expertly through the thronging glitz of the casino floor. Long strides gracefully shortened to match her smaller, mincing gait. She is lovely, and even swathed in his large jacket, she draws attention. He would be very proud - hypothetically - to be seen with such a liaison. Young, striking, implacably brave...

_Now, old boy. Delusions never serve._ They are silent on the walk to his rooms. He procured for himself a penthouse suite within the affiliated hotel. The pneumatic doors open with a coded keycard. Her little hand is still in the crook of his arm. "Miss Tico," he gestures for her to enter first.

************

“General Hux,” she replies, dropping a small bow, the way she’d seen her mother do many times. She’d called it a gesture of respect to strangers, but affection when done before a family member. Rose isn’t sure why, but it feels very natural to pay Hux the gesture before she walks inside. Her calm demeanor slips as soon as she takes in her surroundings. The casino floors had been bright and noisy and sparkly; made her head spin no matter how hard she tried to focus. Here, it is calm and peaceful. A panoramic window curves out from the room, creating a bay with a sitting area. A pair of elegant chaise lounges sit facing the view, velvet surfaces gleaming in the nightlights from outside. Inside everything is softly lit, creating a gentle, even a romantic atmosphere. The bed is enormous, it probably can hold five people with room to spare. It doesn’t even occur to her yet that there’s only one bed. Her attention is taken by the rich desk, spread with data pads and coms and holoscreens. She turns, smirking a little as he shuts the door. “No rest for the wicked, hmm?” she asks, although there’s no malice in her tone, just mild amusement.

************

“Quite.” His soft-footed saunter swallows the distance between the small luxurious entryway and the desk. He does not know what it is about this girl - perhaps it is the same gravity which compelled him to tuck her chin on his bridge when first they met. A dark amalgam of fire, beauty and vulnerability which speaks to the masculine duality within him to subdue and to protect. She is... most intriguing. For Organa to assign her as his liaison is a master stroke on the old rebel general’s part. Are his proclivities really so well known throughout the Galaxy?

_How humiliating._

Still, he is an officer and, he deludes himself, a gentleman. In a gesture neither warm nor callous, he smoothly draws out the seat before the desk. “If memory serves, you are a wunderkind decryptionist. My security measures should give you no trouble. Please-“ he motions for her to sit. Then sidles elegantly to the panoramic view of the glittering skyline and stops beneath the filtering vent to light a cigarette. On a whim, he arcs his brow and shows her the flash of his silver case. “Would you care for one?”

************

She’s already elbow-deep in his datapad, scrolling through blueprints, reading as fast as her eyes will allow. “No, thank you. I tried it once and ridiculously sick for hours afterwards,” she says by way of explanation. “You feel free though. I kinda like the scent.”

The blueprints are fucking _art_. Clean lines and simple concepts elevated to something far beyond normal talent. Improvement on TIEs and X-wings both, amendments to blaster rifles and armor, and, finally, the specs for Starkiller Base itself. She leans closer, eyes wide as she reads the progression backwards to his initial concept, his elegant signature the only one on it.

He had designed Starkiller almost single-handedly, this she knows. But she did not know, nor would have ever guessed what the original is set to accomplish. “Starkiller... was supposed to stabilize hyperspace lanes. It was going to create and move gravity wells. You wanted the galaxy to expand safely into the Unknowns,” she says, speaking half to him and half to herself.

************

“Ah.” Clever girl. “Yes. I had intended-. “ He stops at the wave of bitterness that eclipses his pride at her mild awe. She has a mind he admires, an unfortunate rarity among his usual consorts. An observation not meant to dig at the women who normally accompany him. Rather, it is an exultation of her - Miss Tico’s - Rose’s - perceptiveness. He lights his cigarette with the ghost of chagrin on his lips. “Alas. Supreme Leader Snoke had other plans.”

Does it haunt him at night - the women and children? The innocent on the worlds his competence and ingenuity destroyed?

_Yes..._

He takes a long, soothing draw and begins, looking at the winking silhouette of the city skyline. “I believe... I owe you an apology- “

************

It takes Rose a moment to actually register his words. “An apology?” she repeats as though the word is foreign to her. “What for?” She can’t think of anything he needs to apologize for. Starkiller? Trying to execute her? They were on opposite sides of a _war_ , for fuck’s sake.

************

How is he to begin? He takes another quiet pfft from his cigarette. The end crackles and releases a subtle scent of cloves which wafts upwards towards the vents. “For my accosting you, in the hangar. It was...” he works his jaw, resentful of himself and the situation he finds himself in now, tethered to this girl in this most precarious time, “… _untoward_.” His cool eyes cut briefly to hers. She is watching him from across the room. Her face is surprised. Stars, what a captivating girl.

************

“Well, I did bite you, so I’d say I got even. Sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t break your finger, did I?” she shrugs, surprised but clearly touched by the apology. She gives him a small smile, “Thank you, though. It’s nice of you to apologize.”

************

He smirks. “Hardly, although it did leave rather a mark.” Still smirking, he takes another draw. Warmth curls pleasantly in his chest. “May I ask you a question?”

************

“Sure, shoot,” she nods, turning in the chair to look at him fully, giving him her full attention now, blueprints set aside for the moment. This is so different from how she might have ever pictured meeting him again. More soft talking. Way less blaster fire. He seems calm, gentle even; gives her the chance to look at him without defense. He’s actually... pretty handsome, she realizes, though not for the first time. Hell, she has commented to the other girls that it was a shame someone as pretty as Hux was on the wrong side. They thought she was a bit nuts, of course, but they’d never seen him in-person.

************

As she turns in her seat to him fully, his heart bungles its next beat. Her informality earns another uptick from one corner of his mouth. She is quite the wisecrack. His chin lilts, his voice as soft as the hiss of an asp as he asks, “Why did you accept this mission, knowing it would be I?” Inside the shadows of the dimly lit room, his cool eyes watch hers. He is dark and light under a soft veil of grey as he slips his hand into the pocket of his tuxedo pant and gives her his full regard.

************

“Well, I didn’t _know_ per se,” she looks down bashfully. “We suspected, but there was no confirmation.” She sighs and takes a moment to organize her thoughts. “I hoped it was you. Because if even you could see the First Order for what it is, then there is still hope that peace can be had without you having to browbeat the Galaxy into it. That being a monumental bully will never succeed. Even if they win, there will always, _always,_ be resistance and free people fighting for that freedom will always win eventually.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “And, frankly, hating people is so kriffing exhausting. I’d rather devote my energy to creating and fixing, rather than hate and destruction.”

She swallows hard, looking up at him with a hopeful expression, a slight smile on her lips. “Too bad you weren’t with us from the start. The First Order wouldn’t have lasted a week.”

************

_”I hoped it was you-“_

For an instant, his heartbeat ravens. Then she elucidates, and he realizes- _Ah. It is not an attraction. But a devotion to her cause. Admirable, yes, but-_

Well. What could he reasonably expect?

Graciously, he inclines his head to her compliment. “Thank you. I think,” he adds with uncharacteristic jest. There is a glint of humor in his dangerous eyes. At the desk, he gestures with his cigarette. “Your downloads. I gather we do not have much longer before you and your pilot must rendezvous.” He turns back to the breathtaking view of the skyline. Chest peculiarly, uncharacteristically tight. Perhaps... it is merely the cigarette. He waits patiently while she works.

************

“Right,” she says, although she senses some disappointment from him. What could he be dismayed by? She thinks of asking, but reasons that he would not appreciate her interrogating him about feelings. Turning back to the blueprints, she loses herself once more.

“Oh!” a pleased exclamation leaves her. “The hyperspace tracking is yours too? How is any one person this smart?” She turns to him again, smiling in earnest. “Seriously, all of these blueprints are pure genius! I mean, being gifted is one thing, but you’re making Erso look like a moron by comparison! Oh, I can’t possibly go back yet! Not with you here with so much knowledge! I need to stay here and- “

When had she stood up and gone to him? In her excitement, she’d scampered over to him and is now bouncing lightly on her feet like a child begging for an adult for sweets. She freezes for a second and tries to pull herself back down. “-erm, I mean... I can tell my ride to go back without me. I can find my own way back when we’re done. We have time.”

************

He is touched by her enthusiasm. She is a boundless, excitable girl and he is very charmed. “I am very flattered,” he inclines his head. “Those designs were painstakingly wrought. Tell me, Miss Tico, have you had supper?”

************

“Nooo...” she smiles, a bit shyly, a peach blush painting her cheeks. Why is the low timbre of his voice making her insides twist? She looks up at him through her dark lashes, smiling. “Why? Are you taking me on a date, General?” she asks. “Cuz, if you are, the answer is very much a yes.”

************

The General is elated. For the first time in a long, long while, a smile touches his eyes. “Splendid. Shall I... order in?”

************

“Whatever you suggest. Anything that isn’t a rations bar will be the height of luxury. I hear the room service is excellent here though.... and eating in will certainly keep anyone from seeing us. Privacy will be nice too”

She smiles at him, dark eyes sparkling. She pauses and looks down. She’s still wearing the glittery dress and his tuxedo jacket. “Hm, wish I had something to change into.... this dress is.... beautiful but it doesn’t really suit me and it’s very uncomfortable,” she murmurs, not really expecting him to do anything about it. She should have brought her real clothes herself; she thinks.

************

For a moment - just a millisecond - he thinks she is making an indecent proposal under the guise of practicality. His heart leaps at the chance. “I- might I offer-, “

No, it’s too bold.

_Is it?_

Feeling devious, after her enthusiastic praises of his work and her lustful looks, he draws nearer her, relishing her nervous swallow, and murmurs, “May I offer you my shirt?” For emphasis, he reaches up and unknots his tie. It slips from his neck with a quiet, sensual _zrrrp_. His eyes never break contact with hers.

************

Her eyes flick to his hands and she takes a slow, deep breath, unconsciously licking her lips. “Um... yeah. That’s very sweet of you,” she agrees.

She should look away. Look away. _Look away_! Yet she can’t seem to tear her eyes from those pale, long-fingered hands. Involuntarily, she wonders what they would feel like on her skin, skimming along her sides, delving between her thighs-

With a shake of her head, she blushes and finally manages to meet his eyes instead. This is a mistake. He’s looking right at her, pale eyes glittering with... some emotion she doesn’t quite recognize. Desire? No... no, surely not... why in fuck would he want her? Still, who knew when he’d last gotten laid? Maybe his standards are low enough at the moment that the vermin will do...

************

His fingers light upon his buttons. One by one, sensuously, slowly, they pop. He makes a meal of it, taking his time as he appreciates her beauty in that dress. When the front buttons are finished. He moves to the cuffs. Her cheeks are pink and she has not bolted. But she hasn’t exactly shown an enthusiasm for him beyond his work. She is a shy child. Young at heart. Less brave, behind closed doors. He hopes a little encouragement will kindle her confidence. When he is finished, his tuxedo shirt hangs open, pulled loose from his belt, revealing his cream-colored undershirt beneath. With grace, he slips it off his shoulders, folds it and hands it to her

************

Her eyes follow his hands, then trace over his torso and arms. The undershirt clings to him so perfectly that she suspects it might somehow be deliberate. He’s slender but corded with strength, covered in pale skin the color of milk, dotted here and there with freckles that make her mouth water. Her insides clench tight, desire growling awake.

Before she can stop herself, she hears herself blurt out. “Fuck... you are so gorgeous.”

Her blush intensifies and she bites her lip hard. Fuck, she said that out loud. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Backpedaling isn’t going to help her here, and she snaps her eyes up to his face. “Shit... sorry. I mean, I hope you aren’t... offended.... but I mean....” she cuts herself off, irritated at her own wishy -washy thought process. “You’re brilliant, cultured, and handsome as the devil... and it’s... fucking attractive. Why do you have to be so damn hot?” She shoves the straps of the dress down, turning around as she attempts to shimmy out the dumb thing, trying to avoid those captivating eyes.

Realizing she can’t get out of the dress without help, she huffs. “Could you... unzip me, please?”

************

_“You are so gorgeous.”_

Her words toll in his heart like the sweetest bell. "My dear girl," he steps up behind her with the specter of a smile. Slowly, his lips lower to her shoulder. He kisses her there, the softest, lightest of kisses. A plush, gentle touch. Her hands are shaking, badly. He finds them where they twist in front of her and thread his fingers through hers.

Arms around her, cradling her to his body, he whispers into her soft, elegant hair, "Hush. Don't be frightened." He leans over her shoulder and kisses her cheek. "There, there. See?" His eyes sweep her with longing. "What does such a beautiful girl have to be trepidatious about, hm? You look so beautiful this evening. And your compliments are so sweet. Tell me, angel-" He turns her slowly, guiding her nervous shambling into effortless grace. Face to face now, or rather, face to chest - _such a little thing_ \- he gathers her with an arm around her waist.

"-did you feel for me what I felt for you in my hanger, almost a year ago, when you knelt at my feet? Could you- would you consider- giving yourself to me in passion-?" He lets his eyes trail her face, her lovely throat, down to her large, soft breaks peeking amply from her gorgeous dress. "-as I have so longed to possess you. Tell me, Rose-"

************

The touch of his lips, so tender-sweet against her aching skin, makes give a small cry, a mewling, plaintive sound. Every word goes straight past her brain and into her heart... or her cunt. She presses back against him, small brown hands resting over his. She can feel his heart pounding against her back, her own answering eagerly.

_“-did you feel for me what I felt for you in my hanger, almost a year ago, when you knelt at my feet? Could you- would you consider- giving yourself to me in passion as I have so longed to possess you. Tell me, Rose- “_

Another soft noise from her throat. Had she really been that easy to read? Even then? She remembers seeing him for the first time, tall and confident and handsome in his uniform and greatcoat. The second he’d turned his gaze on her, she’d foolishly thought maybe he would be merciful. Stupid of her, but she had seen something in his eyes that had tugged at her and locked a silk ribbon around her heart. Handsome. Powerful. But somehow broken and in desperate need of mending. His turning spy had only strengthened this lock.

She nods slowly, licking her lips to speak, “Yes... yes, I have... wanted you... in passion... since then. I just thought... you wouldn’t want... the vermin.” She isn’t throwing his words back at him or being accusatory, not at all. But her fantasies of him prior had always been a bit saddening after she caught her breath and got up to wash her desire slickened hands. A douse of cold water literally and figuratively. And now, he’s here touching her with those beautiful hands and whispering in her ear with a tone that makes her squirm wantonly against him.

“Please...” she keens softly, rubbing her cheek against his chest like a cat. She’s not even sure what she wants from him among the many _many_ scenarios she’s played in her head. But she wants whatever he is prepared to give.

************

"Shh," he puts his finger to her lips. "No more speaking tonight, sweet girl. The only thing I want to hear from you are sounds of passion, and my own name. Armitage-" With that, he swoops in for a kiss. She is lovely, warm - untried but eager in her response. He cups her face tenderly and tilts her, letting his tongue delve beautifully to the back of her throat. Such a tender-hearted little one. He holds her close, sheltering her from her insecurities as his hands slide all over her body, cupping and fondling her with her abandon. She is all soft, lovely warmth.

He lifts her and carries her to the large, soft bed. "There, now," he sets her on the edge and undoes her zipper. Poor little thing, she'd trapped herself in her straps. Delicately, to preserve the beautiful confection, he works it off her body, over her hips, down her legs. She is wearing a sort of corset. With practiced expertise, he divests her of that. When she is bare, he removes his belt. The buckle clinks as his slacks slide to the floor. Neatly, he steps out of his trousers. Shoes removed, he peels out of his socks and undershirt. His briefs he chooses to leave on until the moment. Already she is nervous, were she to see his member, he worries he might scare her to death. This he thinks with a smirk.

"Come," he takes her hand, guides her to the center of the large, lush bed. Using a remote, he dims the lights. Then he covers her nakedness with his own and seals their preamble with a kiss.

************

Barely having time to register what his first name is, Rose accepts his body atop of hers, sliding her arms up and around him, caressing over his back, gently letting her short nails scratch along his skin. "Am I allowed to comment upon your good looks?" she asks breathlessly between kisses. "I'd rather you _don’t_ remain silent, though. Your voice is so.... meltingly erotic... I love it," she says, surging up to capture him in a kiss this time, sliding her tongue between his parted lips, one hand snaking up into his short, soft hair. I

Instinctively, she parts her legs, cradling him between them, rocking her hips up, her wet folds pressing up against his hard-ridged stomach, only her panties separating them. Even that mild sensation makes her empty cunt tighten. Stars, she wants this man inside of her! "Armitage..." she whisper-moans, testing out his name, finding that it falls very sweetly from her lips.

************

"My my my." She is _delightful_. A willful girl, but he shall soon fix that. "Talkative, are we? Perhaps things are a bit more... _lax_ , where you are from. Never fear-" he kisses her again, deeply. Softly. As his hands seek one of the fine silk pillows in its case. He removes the insert. Carefully, so that she has ample time to deny him, he folds the silk. "Here", he offers her tenderly, "bite down on this." A touch of good humor reaches his eyes watching hers as he purrs, "You have rather a strong bite, if I recall."

************

For the briefest second, she looks alarmed, but she slowly smiles and opens her mouth, allowing him to gag her. So much for calling his name, though she suspects that even muffled, he would understand his own name. It's just tight enough to keep her from speaking clearly and she has no doubt that if she really wanted to, she could get out of it, but there is something very exciting about this scenario. She is gushing between her legs. She slides her hands up over her head, grasping the rails of the headboard, as though pretending she's been tied, eyes glinting as she keeps his gaze. Two can play at this game. If Armitage Hux wants her to be subdued and conquered, she is more than willing to allow it.

************

Armitage is enthralled. "Yes, that's it. Lovely," he kisses her cheek. First one, and then the other. A tender nuzzle of his nose to hers. His hands caress gently at her body. She has gifted him something very precious - her willingness, her submission, her young beautiful body - and he will treat her with the utmost care. He shelters her nakedness, blocking out the chill and sense of vulnerability as he pleasures her with kisses along her throat and at her breasts. His hands rove her belly - he strums her with the tips of his fingers as he sweetly tortures her small, peaked nipples with his tongue. He suckles, thrilling in the pleasure of her smothered, prey-like sounds. Such an angel. He has no intentions of returning her to the Resistance. Organa is a supreme fool to set her in his sights.

Slowly, he lets his touch track down her navel. Swirling her bellybutton, relishing her ticklish tremors. Confidently, with a worshipful expression in his cool-burning eyes, he slips his fingers into her panties and strums her slit.

************

She mewls against the gag, drawing in deep breaths through her nose. Fuck, she's never been so desperate to have a man inside of her! His warm, sensual mouth leaves a trail of burning embers along her skin; his fingertips sear along her soul, leaving a mark where no one else ever could. At the first swipe of his fingers along her aching lips, she arches with a sobbing cry. Her chest heaves with her panting breath, making her tits bounce, pink tips already in tight peaks from his mouth. Fuck, the barest touch and she's practically coming already!

_Calm down, Rosie Posie... you don't want to finish this too soon_ , she reminds herself, trying in vain to catch her breath.

************

Armitage feels his soul take flight. This girl is gorgeous, glorious, coming into her own before his eyes. He feels a savage desire welling within him. Her sweet cries through her gag tug at his heart and at his cock, stiff and weeping inside his underclothes.

He is _obsessed_ with her, has been since the moment she stepped onto his ship. Fate has delivered her unto him. He must prove he is worthy of her. With a snarl, he wrenches her poor little panties off, and they _rip_. She is wet, glistening. So, so ready. He lays his body down on top of hers and removes the gag as he guides down his briefs. He wants to hear her - his name from her lips, her sweet, strange ramblings. She is so endearing, so _incendiary_. She sets him ablaze.

"My angel," he calls her, "Sweet girl," as he shifts her thigh onto his hip. He enters her smoothly - she is tight, _tight tight tight_ \- he groans, swelling her liquid hot sleeve of pleasure around his considerable girth. She moves him with her passionate cries, already so close to her meltdown. And so is he, for this wild, wicked, entrancing woman.

************

She grants his request without even needing to hear it voiced. The soul-shattering moment he slides inside of her to the hilt, she screams his name, her hips jacking up to meet him. Her pussy clenches around him hard as the tip of his cock hits her cervix, making her cry out again. _A new sensation, that!_ She certainly couldn't reach that deep herself... and no previous men (all _two_ of them) had been large enough to accomplish it. She'd never thought such a thing could be pleasurable, but fuck it feels amazing! She clings to him, wrapping her legs around his hips, drawing him even closer, as though she wants to absorb him.

"Fuck... fuck, you feel so fucking good..." she pants against his skin, trembling, a fine sheen of sweat making her glow. Eyes slid up to his, taking him in, brilliant black meeting on blazing blue. "You're... so _perfect_..." she whispers, one hand combing up into his hair, gently stroking the fire-bright strands out of their pomaded perfection. A moment of tenderness amid raging passion; she leans up to kiss him, warm and sweet and loving.

************

He melts. She feels delicious around him. Heaven. A coming home. He takes her eagerly, vicious-tender. Dominating her precious, perfect body with ebbs and surges of his cock. He is on a rampage, barraging her, lifting her thighs higher and higher. Making his mark.

"You", he hisses through gritted teeth, a demon worshipping at the feet of an angel, "are exquisite." He batters her, sieging her soft, young body until he feels her clench his shaft. The velvet squeeze of her is... _perfection_. He will not last- he will not last- He head tips back, he groans at the ceiling. _Faster faster fast-_

She is tightening. Winding like slick silken rope around his cock. He kisses her, delves deeply into her, relishing the double penetration of her body as he cradles her hand in his head, winds his arm around her waist. Holds her, heart to heart. They pant into each other, completely lost to passion as in a blinding mad instant of white stars collision-coursing together- they come as one.

************

Fuck, the sounds he makes go straight to her swollen, aching pussy. Alabaster skin and sapphire eyes, he's a kriffing mythical creature above her. _This man will love you forever_ , she imagines a voice whispering to her _. Love him, be his sweetness, be his triumph and he will worship you to the ends of the galaxy. He will move the stars for you. He was a monster, but you have made him into a man._

Love him? Oh, gods and goddesses, she does... doesn't she? Hell, if he asked her right now, she would go back to the First Order with him to help undo it from within. The thought makes her cry out, clinging closer as his movements become more erratic, less measured. If possible, he feels like he's getting even harder against her gripping cunt.

"Armitage... please... close... so close...!" she pleads, though she is cut off by her own keening cry. Her orgasm rips through her, every fiber of her body and soul cleaving to the man above and within her. The sensation of his seed pouring inside of her only prolongs the pleasure, white hot and searing, filling her empty womb. She curls her hips up to him in an unconscious urge to keep every drop where it belongs. She is blind in her passion; blind, deaf, and dumb... all she knows is _him_ , all she wants is _him_.

Reality is slow in coming back to her, her trembling body still clinging to his as they both gently spiral down from the heights. She holds him tightly, not wanting to let him go, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against his shoulder, along his neck, up to his wide, pink mouth. "Armitage..." she caresses his name with impossible tenderness, just wanting to say those three beautiful syllables again. "Stay," she whispers when he tries to lift himself up. "Stay... I like feeling you on top of me."

************

_"Stay" she whispers._

"Rose," he moans, holding her tighter. Pressing his throbbing, sated cock deeper into her, a plug for the love he has poured inside her. Like a pitcher over the mouth of a waiting cup.

_Stars, love?_ Could he...? He wants...

"Stay with me," he echoes, reverberations of her sweet pleas against his heart. He is panting. Shaking. Wanting - no - _needing_ more of her. He kisses her, slow and deep, knowing her answer before she sighs it into his lips.

_Yes._

"Yes..." That one sweet word whispered to him. In her arms - bodies tangled, tethered, slick, hot - in love - can he keep her?

Can he change for her?

Can he make the Galaxy into the place she deserves?

For her willingness to accept him, her gift - her surrender - he can.

Yes.

He can.


End file.
